


The Rat King's Revenge

by LuckyLadybug



Series: Exit the Fly [31]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987)
Genre: Brothers, Cruelty, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mugging, Revenge, Season/Series 07, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLadybug/pseuds/LuckyLadybug
Summary: 1987 series, my Exit the Fly verse. Baxter is mugged while walking one night, an attack observed by one of The Rat King's subjects. And when The Rat King realizes that Baxter invented the Mousers, he decides to take Baxter's fate in his own hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are not mine and the story is! This is part of my Exit the Fly verse. Baxter is human again and an ally of the Turtles. His brother Barney no longer works for Shredder.

Baxter moaned, weakly clutching his side with one hand while trying to keep himself upright with the other. He gripped the brick wall, stumbling as a rat scurried from beneath his feet. His vision swam before his pained eyes.

"I . . . shouldn't have gone out," he mumbled. "Oh. . . . Sooner or later I'd know this would happen to me in New York City. . . ."

At least he was almost home. He swayed into the apartment building, crashing into the wall as he headed for the steps. "Ow. . . ."

As embarrassed as he'd be to be fussed over, the thought of it sounded nice. Especially since he had longed for caring for most of his life and had only found it several months ago. But no one was around, not even Mrs. Kowalchek. Blinking back the encroaching dizziness, he struggled up the steps.

It was so hard. . . . Every time he lifted his foot to climb the next stair, it felt like it weighed a ton. He felt like he was moving in slow-motion, desperately fighting for a goal he wasn't likely to achieve. "Oh help," he whispered. Normally he didn't mind the stairs and preferred them to the thought of the building's non-existent elevator, but in his current condition he was useless on stairs.

He wouldn't have been surprised if he had tumbled back to the very bottom. But somehow he managed to make it all the way to the third floor by holding on to the banister. He staggered forward, fishing in his pocket for his key. "At least they didn't bother to take this too," he mumbled. After several failed tries, he found the lock in the doorknob and turned it.

He stumbled inside, shutting the door after him as he went. "I have to . . . get to the phone. . . . Or the First Aid Kit. . . ."

But now that he was in familiar territory, his body seemed instead to prefer giving out on him. He swayed, collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.

****

A fancy car pulled up outside the building moments later. Inside, Barney turned off the engine while Vincent leaned back in approval. "That was a nice ride," he commented.

"I always liked this car," Barney said. "I'm glad it still works after being cooped up in the garage for months."

"Maybe you should have hired help to take care of it and the house," Vincent said.

"I just had a maid, and she walked out on me when I got arrested," Barney grumbled. "I've never bothered to replace her. Now, I really don't want a maid." He got out of the car and headed for the front doors of the building.

"The two of us do just fine without any hired help," Vincent agreed.

"I really only wanted the maid to look prestigious, and right now I don't care about that anymore." Barney walked inside and started for the stairs. Vincent soon followed.

They were halfway to the third floor before Barney remembered. "Drat! I left the folder in the car," he said in irritation.

"I'll go back and get it," Vincent offered.

"You do that," Barney said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Buddy." Vincent waved and turned to head back down the stairs.

Barney went up the rest of the way and over to Baxter's door. "Baxter?" He knocked, but stiffened in shock when the door creaked open. Baxter wasn't careless like that. He pushed the door open farther and slipped inside.

The sight of his twin sprawled on the floor sent an icy stabbing of horror down his back. "Baxter!?" He rushed over and knelt down, taking Baxter's wrist to feel for a pulse. The gentle throb relaxed him, but only marginally. Baxter was still deeply unconscious.

With care Barney felt for broken bones before lifting Baxter into his arms. "Brother, what happened?" His eyes flashed with fury. Baxter looked so small, so helpless, even though he and Barney were the same size.

Obviously he couldn't stay here on the floor. And Barney needed to get something to try to help revive him. Barney slowly got to his feet, stumbling back from the identical weight in his arms. The couch was right there, several feet away. . . . He could surely take Baxter that far. . . .

He forced himself forward and half-laid, half-dropped Baxter into the couch before falling to his knees in front of it. Baxter's sweater vest rode up at the motion, bringing the shirt with it. A cruel bruise was visible on his left side.

Barney's eyes flashed with fury and outrage. "Who did this to you?!"

Baxter weakly groaned, turning his head to the side.

"Barney?" Vincent appeared in the doorway, the folder under one arm. Then he could only stop and stare. "What's going on?!"

"I found Baxter passed out on the floor," Barney snarled. "Stay with him while I dampen a cloth."

Vincent set the folder on the telephone table and went over to the couch. "Baxter? Baxter, old pal, can you hear me?" He knelt down, gently smoothing Baxter's hair back.

Baxter flinched and threw up his arms to protect his head. "Oh please! Just take what you want. Don't hurt me!"

Vincent rocked back. "Baxter?! Don't you recognize me?"

Baxter slowly opened his eyes. ". . . Vincent?"

"And me." Barney came back over and knelt down as well. "You're safe now; there's no one here who's going to hurt you."

"Oh. . . ." Baxter slowly lowered his arms. "I was mugged. . . ."

"In the apartment?" Barney retorted, only half-sarcastically. He laid the cloth on Baxter's forehead.

"Outside the apartment," Baxter shot back. "Somehow I staggered back here before I collapsed."

"What did they get?" Barney demanded.

"Nothing," Baxter mumbled. "I didn't have any cash on me and I left my credit card here. They were so angry I didn't have anything for them to steal, they starting beating me up."

Vincent's eyes burned with fury now. "How badly are you hurt, Pal?"

"A few bruises. . . . And then I hit my head on the wall when one of them kicked me backwards. . . ." Baxter looked to Barney, who looked close to exploding. "I'm alright, really. . . ."

"Alright, my eye!" Barney snapped. "You are not alright. And we're calling the police about this."

"I'd be happy to call the police," Baxter said. "But they probably won't find the perpetrators. They rarely do."

"We're calling anyway." Barney straightened and stormed over to the phone.

Vincent stayed with Baxter. "What made them stop assaulting you?" he wondered.

"One of them seemed to get scared when I hit my head," Baxter said. "He thought I was dying and convinced his friends to leave me alone."

"You could have died!" Vincent gently reached to feel for the injury. "I've heard of many cases where someone expired under similar circumstances."

Baxter flinched when Vincent found the tender spot. "I think it's just a bump," he said. "It's not even bleeding. . . ."

"Can I get you anything, Pal?" Vincent asked.

"Some ice," Baxter said without thinking. "Oh . . . you wouldn't be able to do that. . . ."

"I can put some in a bag without ever touching the cubes," Vincent said. "I'll be right back." He stood and hurried into the kitchen.

Baxter leaned back, listening to the sounds of Vincent looking for a bag and turning on the ice dispenser. Then Barney was speaking into the phone, or rather, barking into it.

"Hello?!" he snarled. "Stop giving me the run-around! My brother was mugged and beaten tonight. . . . Of course he's hurt! . . . No, he's not in the hospital. . . . It happened near his apartment building." He gave the address. "Now get down here and do something about it!" He hung up with a bang.

Baxter jumped but then settled back into the couch. It was so strange to hear Barney so protective and angry. But it was also so nice.

"Lazy, incompetent fools," Barney growled. He came back over to the couch. "You probably should be in the hospital."

"I'd rather not," Baxter said. "Not unless I get worse. And I feel alright, really. At least, I mean, I don't feel like I'm going to swoon again. . . ."

Vincent came back with a ZipLoc bag full of ice. "Here, Pal."

Baxter smiled at him. "Thank you." He held it against the bump on his head.

Barney sighed and sat down. ". . . What are you planning to do with your life, Brother?" he gruffly asked. "That is . . . do you always plan to just be a scientific consultant?"

Baxter looked at him in surprise. "I don't know. I've had a few ideas for inventions, but I haven't taken them past the designing stage. I plan to make them to help the Turtles. . . . I just haven't had much chance. I guess I'm kind of disillusioned when it comes to trying to produce and market anything. I know many inventors don't make it, but it's usually because their inventions aren't good enough, not because they're too good for a selfish, greedy populace." His eyes darkened. "That's what I was actually told. It isn't just my own opinion of my Mousers."

Barney frowned. He didn't often see Baxter's bitter side. To see it now actually hurt. He hated what the cruelty of the world had done to his naive, idealistic brother. And he hated that he had been a huge part of that.

"I . . . never told you, Baxter, but those who rejected your Mousers were morons," he said at last. "They would have been millionaires had they partnered with you."

Baxter stared at him. "But . . . you always acted like the Mousers were an idiotic idea," he said. "You said I should have known about all the damage they could potentially do. I did know," he said softly. "I just foolishly trusted that Shredder didn't want to do that with them."

Barney's shoulders slumped. "I was frustrated and angry that you'd been hurt just like I warned. I'm not a comforting sort of person. I get angry if someone is hurt, but my anger hurts them more. And I was afraid maybe you'd really lost your mind because of your failure with the Mousers." He shook his head. "If I could take it all back. . . ."

"If we could do that, there's so many things we'd all do differently," Baxter said. "Instead, we just have to live as best we can in spite of the damage we've caused for ourselves and others." He gave Barney a curious look. "Did you really come here to discuss my future in science?"

". . . No, actually." Barney straightened and looked to Vincent for help, but Vincent just gave him an encouraging look. "I . . . I'm just trying to decide what I'm going to do with my future in science. I can hardly believe it, but I've actually received three job offers over the last several days."

Baxter smiled. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you."

Barney got up and retrieved the folder. "I had planned to look for a job, but now I figure I should accept one of these since I already know they're actually willing to take a chance on me. I'm just having trouble deciding which one."

"That should be your decision, Barney. You'd know best what you'd be happiest with." But Baxter looked honored and touched regardless.

"I know," Barney grunted. "I just wanted to run them past you and see what you thought. Well . . . it was Vincent's idea," he added, not wanting to give Baxter any false notions.

"But you decided to listen," Baxter said.

"You're probably not well enough to think about it right now," Barney frowned.

"I'm fine," Baxter insisted. "This will give me something else to focus on. Tell me!"

Finally Barney relaxed and nodded. He flipped the folder open and started to read through the contents. Baxter listened carefully to all the offers and what each would entail. Vincent sat back and watched, happy to see the scene.

****

Deep underground, in The Rat King's lair, an adventurous rat returned from a night prowl and climbed onto The Rat King's throne.

"Well, welcome back, Minnie," he greeted. "And what do you have to report?" He listened as Minnie chattered in his ear. "A man was mugged near April O'Neil's apartment building? And why should that concern us? . . . Baxter Stockman? Who is Baxter Stockman? Wait." The madman's eyes glinted. "Short little man, wild brown hair, lab coat? . . . Yes. He's a friend of the Turtles'. We saw him in the amusement park. . . . What's that, Minnie? Baxter Stockman invented the Mousers?!"

A new look came into The Rat King's eyes, a deadly and dangerous look. "The inventor of any device to catch rats deserves whatever horrible fate we rats decree he must suffer." He ground his fist into his palm. "At last I know the perfect use for these treacherous objects we picked up some time back." This he said while looking at glinting metal in a shadowy corner. "When we're through with him, Baxter Stockman will wish those muggers had been the ones to finish him instead of The Rat King!"

All the rats chattered in an eerie chorus.

****

Michelangelo frowned down at his Turtle-Comm in concern. "Still no answer, Dudes," he announced. "It's late, but not so late that Baxter should be asleep. I don't get why he doesn't pick up."

"It could be a lot of reasons," Raphael shrugged. "He could be in a late meeting. Maybe he's taking a shower. Maybe he even fell asleep by accident."

"An accident?!" Michelangelo sprang up and went for the telephone. "If I can't get him one way, I'll try another way!"

"I had to open my big beak and give him ideas," Raphael muttered. "Michelangelo, I'm sure he's fine!"

Michelangelo ignored him and tapped his fingers on the wall. "Come on, Bud, answer," he said under his breath.

"You know, sometimes I still find it hard to believe that Michelangelo's 'best bud' aside from us is Baxter Stockman," Raphael remarked.

"We have all come a long way," Splinter said from the couch. "Perhaps someday, we will also be communicating like this with Barney."

Raphael snorted. ". . . Oh, I don't mean any disrespect, Sensei," he quickly exclaimed. "It just sounds so off-the-wall."

"As it once seemed about Baxter," Splinter replied.

"Hello?" Michelangelo demanded, and they all came to attention. "Baxter?"

"No," came another voice on the phone. "It's me, Vincent."

"Oh hey, Vincent." Michelangelo leaned on the wall, twirling the phone cord in his hand. "Uh, is Baxter there?"

"Yes." On the other end of the phone, Vincent looked over at Baxter, who was still reclining on the couch. Puzzled, Baxter looked back.

"Well, I just wondered if he was okay and all, because he . . . hasn't answered the Turtle-Comm," Michelangelo explained.

Baxter's eyes widened. "Oh no." He dug into his pocket and pulled it out. "It must have been accidentally turned off during the attack." Swiftly he opened it and pressed the On button, followed by the button for Michelangelo's Turtle-Comm. "Hello, Michelangelo," he greeted. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"I will say Goodbye now." Vincent quietly pushed the Speakerphone button up, disconnecting the telephone call.

"Hey, that's okay, Dude," Michelangelo said, absently hanging up the telephone receiver as the dial tone sounded in his ear. "Wait a minute, though. . . . You said something about an attack?! And . . . is that a bag of ice against your head?"

"Yes and yes." Baxter sighed, not liking to tell Michelangelo what had happened but knowing he really deserved to know. "I was out walking and I was mugged. I should have expected it to happen eventually, really, knowing New York."

"But that's still awful!" Michelangelo exclaimed. "Are you hurt bad?!"

Baxter smiled. "I don't think it's serious. Just a bump and some bruises."

"It was bad enough that you blacked out," Barney flatly remarked.

"What?!" Michelangelo cried.

Baxter waved a hand at Barney. "I really feel alright now," he said. "And I think the police are coming over. . . . Barney called them about what happened."

"Well, I hope they catch those scuzz-buckets," Michelangelo said with a rare tone of anger and disgust.

"I hope so as well, but I know it isn't likely," Baxter said wearily. "I hate to think how many muggings go unsolved every year." A knock on the door brought his attention up. "Oh, that's probably them now. Excuse me, Michelangelo."

"Sure, Dude. Hey, you get some good rest when they leave, okay?"

"I will," Baxter promised.

Michelangelo still looked angry as he hung up. "Can you believe that? Mugging a nice guy like Baxter?"

"Hey, I have a hard time believing it didn't happen sooner," Raphael answered. "The way he loves to walk around town and the way this town loves to mug poor, unsuspecting walkers."

"Still, it is most concerning," Splinter said. "Especially taking place so close to the apartment building. Even though it is unlikely, I hope the police will catch them."

"Maybe we should try to catch them," Michelangelo announced.

"What?!" Raphael raised an eyebrow. "That's more Casey Jones' style. Our business is stopping crimes in progress or stopping megalomaniacs before or during their conquer the world schemes. We're not detectives tracking down hoodlums."

"I remember when you wanted to be, Raphael," Michelangelo shot back.

"Okay, so I got a little crazy there for a while," Raphael shrugged.

"I do not think attempting to catch these hooligans is such a bad idea," Splinter said. "They may return to the area to try again. I doubt they would go after Baxter a second time, but they might try April or Irma."

Raphael froze. "You're right, Sensei," he conceded. "So I guess we'd better round up the others and go out on patrol."

"Mondo notion!" Michelangelo exclaimed, hurrying off to find Leonardo and Donatello.

"Be careful, my students!" Splinter called after them.

"We will," Raphael insisted.

****

Baxter gave a worn-out sigh as the door closed behind the police. "Well, that took long enough," he muttered. "I just hope my descriptions of the muggers helps some."

"We'll just have to see," Barney replied. "You managed to observe several details that should help, if the police do their jobs right."

"And if the muggers aren't one step ahead of them," Baxter sighed. But then he turned his attention back to Barney's folder. "Anyway, let's get back to this."

"I read just about everything in there," Barney said.

"And it will still have to be your decision," Baxter said. "But if you really want my opinion . . . I think it might be better not to start out with something that requires very demanding deadlines. I think that should wait until you're more comfortably settled into the idea of trying to live honestly."

"'Comfortably settled,'" Barney scoffed. "That may never happen."

"Let's hope it will," Baxter said resolutely.

"You're probably right about the deadlines, though," Barney grunted. "This type of new drug research is fascinating, but extremely exhausting. That leaves these other two---working as a professor at the university or conducting electrical research at this energy plant."

"Would you want to work with electricity?" Baxter quietly asked.

"It's my secondary field," Barney grunted. "But if you mean because of the lightning stone, I don't want to turn my back on a field I've always found intriguing because of some unpleasant memories."

"It's still so fresh on your mind, though," Baxter said. "It might be better to wait for a while before trying something like that."

"That would leave teaching a class of rowdy college students about neuropsychology," Barney flatly pointed out. "Knowing me and my antisocial nature, do you really think that would be less stressful?"

"You might have a point," Baxter said with a weak smile. "So it comes down to which you would find the least stressful. I rather sense that you've already made up your mind, but are looking for confirmation from another source that it's a good idea. And I'm afraid I don't know."

Barney nodded. "I'm also looking for which job might more likely allow Vincent the freedom to use the solid energy generator, as he has every intention of coming to work with me and helping me."

"Of course," said Vincent. "But I'm willing to just be a regular laptop if that would be better for you, Buddy."

"I had thought that's what you'd probably have to do outside of the house," Barney said. "But people have actually been tolerant so far. And I know you prefer to have a body. So I don't want you to be restricted from that."

"That police lieutenant who came to talk to me about the mugging didn't seem that surprised by Vincent," Baxter mused. "But then again, I had the sense that not much surprises him anymore."

"I imagine a lieutenant working with street gangs for over twenty years has seen many horrible surprises," Vincent said. "This wasn't even his area, but he happened to be at the nearest precinct and they asked him to come because of his experience."

"And I also imagine that rowdy college students would have a hard time settling down with Vincent as my full-fledged assistant," Barney grunted. "The electrical research would allow us our greatest freedom . . . and be the least likely to require me to interact with people all day long."

"What you don't need is to be alone all the time," Vincent interjected.

"I'm hardly alone anymore," Barney said. "I have you, and that's how I like it."

Baxter looked to Vincent. "Do I gather that you're also unsure about the electrical job?"

"I wonder if one of the others would better help Barney integrate into a new life," Vincent said.

Baxter pondered. "Have you talked to any of these places in person?" he asked Barney.

"No, I'm planning to do that tomorrow," Barney replied. "I'm just concerned that I may be told I have to decide right then, so I wanted to have a better idea of my feelings before I go."

"People with your skills aren't exactly a dime a dozen," Vincent said. "I'm sure they'll be willing to wait a reasonable amount of time for you to decide."

"That's wonderful that you have three places to choose from," Baxter said sincerely. "I certainly didn't have options like that open to me when I was looking."

"I'm sure it's just because of the publicity surrounding the lightning gun debacle," Barney retorted. "Without that, I would likely be having just as much trouble as you did, if not more." He started to stand. "We should let you rest."

"I'll be alright," Baxter said. "You have a big day tomorrow. You should go home and try to get some good sleep."

Vincent and Barney exchanged a look. "Maybe you should come with us, Pal," Vincent said. "I could check on you during the night to make sure you're okay."

"Miss O'Neil and Miss Langinstein live directly below me in the building," Baxter said. "They can check on me. I don't want to disrupt things at your house when Barney is going to look at all the establishments tomorrow."

"It's not a bother," Barney said gruffly. "Your coworkers would need more sleep than Vincent would. It would make more sense for him to check on you during the night." He hesitated. "The only thing is . . . it would be better for you not to move any more than you have to. If you're not going to the hospital, you should probably stay here." He set the folder on the telephone table. "Here's what we're going to do. I'll help you to bed. I'll stay over and sleep on the couch. Vincent can sleep anywhere; he can have the chair."

"Oh, but I couldn't . . ." Baxter started to stammer.

"It's fine," Barney cut in. "Your couch is perfectly soft. I can get a good night's sleep here." He started to ease Baxter up. Vincent came over in case he needed to assist, but Barney seemed to have it under control.

Baxter sat up, then slowly tried to stand and stumbled into Barney. Barney held on firmly. Keeping an arm around Baxter's shoulders, he guided his brother down the hall and into the bedroom. Vincent followed.

In a few moments, Barney and Vincent came back and Barney settled on the couch. Vincent covered him with a spare quilt Baxter had given them.

"Barney," he said slowly, "if we had left, would you even sleep as well at home, worrying about Baxter?"

Barney just gave him a silent look and pulled up the quilt.

Vincent smiled.

****

Barney did sleep well, and in spite of the interruptions from Vincent checking to see if Baxter was aware and remembered everything, so did Baxter. By morning he felt much better overall, although the bruises were definitely paining him more than they had last night.

"How are you going to go to work in this condition?" Barney objected.

"I can hardly stay away," Baxter retorted. "I'm not about to call Mr. Thompson and say that I can't come in to work because I was mugged last night."

"It's not the mugging; it's the beating up!" Barney snapped.

"If I can just rest on the couch on my office, I should be able to look over scripts or other things like that," Baxter said.

"And what if a big story breaks and Mr. Thompson wants you to go along?" Barney countered.

Baxter sighed. "Then I'd have to tell him that I wouldn't be able to move very quickly today."

Barney shook his head in exasperation. "You'll do whatever you want to do, no matter what I say. You always did."

"I wish I had listened to you sometimes," Baxter admitted. "But if I'd listened all the time, we probably wouldn't even be having this conversation. I'd still be too afraid to reach out to you."

Barney grunted, which was the closest he would come to acknowledging that in the affirmative. "We'll drop you off at work on our way to investigate the job offers," he said gruffly. "You shouldn't drive today."

"I'd be grateful to not have to," Baxter said.

His Turtle-Comm beeped and he pulled it out. "Hey, Baxter!" Michelangelo chirped before Baxter could speak. "How are you doing today?"

"Much better, thank you," Baxter smiled.

"Are you gonna . . . go in to work?" Michelangelo wondered.

"I am," Baxter said.

"Well . . . we could drive you, if you want!" Michelangelo offered.

Baxter was touched. "Barney and Vincent are going to drive me; they stayed here overnight. But I appreciate the gesture, Michelangelo."

"If they can't drive you back, we'd be happy to do that!" Michelangelo said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Baxter promised.

****

It was a relief to find that work was fairly peaceful that day. There was plenty to do right at the station, from reading scripts to observing the in-studio filming of certain segments of Strange Science. By evening, Baxter hadn't needed to leave the building once. He settled in on his couch with one final script of the day.

April knocked on his door moments later. "Dr. Stockman?"

He looked up in surprise. "Come in."

April entered, looking concerned. "I didn't have a chance to see you before now. I was horrified to hear how you were hurt last night."

"It wasn't serious," Baxter insisted. "I've been taking it easy today and the police are looking for the perpetrators."

"It could have been serious," April said. She hesitated. "And . . . I don't know what to make of this. It was sent Special Delivery to you and just arrived." She held up a white envelope.

Surprised, Baxter took it and opened it. A single sheet of paper fell out.

I know who mugged you last night. I'll tell you if you come to this address, but I'll only talk to you.  
No cops! Come alone by 8 sharp or you'll get nothing.

Baxter stared at it. "I don't know whether this is on the level or not."

April peered at it as well. "That address sounds familiar. I think it's an abandoned subway station!"

Baxter paled. "Subway station?" His mind jumped back to the news article he had seen the other day.

April's mind was traveling along the same lines. "In fact, it's the same subway station where . . . uh oh."

Baxter groaned and covered his face. "To use that location could be a coincidence, I suppose. The entire city saw that article."

"Or it could be a trap," April countered. "Only I don't know who would set it."

Baxter took his hand away and studied the paper again. "And there is a chance it's legitimate. Informants are often shy or otherwise leery and don't want anything to do with the police. Maybe it's even someone in the gang who regrets what they did . . . although it's unlikely he would regret it so much he would rat out his comrades." He sighed. "In any case, I suppose I'll have to go and find out. The police haven't had any luck locating the muggers; I spoke to them at lunch. If there is any chance of truth in this, I don't want to pass it up."

"You can't go there alone!" April exclaimed.

Baxter glanced at the clock. "There isn't enough time before eight to call the Turtles," he mused. "Maybe I could have one of Channel 6's drivers take me and wait nearby. If I didn't come out in a few minutes, he could call the police or you."

"I'll come with you!" April insisted. "You don't need to go with one of the drivers!"

Baxter's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't want to put you in any danger, Miss O'Neil," he said in alarm.

"A reporter lives for danger!" April countered. "Anyway, I'll stick to how you want to handle it. I promise I'll wait instead of trying to sneak up and film. And if you don't come out in, say, five minutes, I'll call the Turtles. How about that?"

Baxter still didn't like the thought of April coming along, but he could see from her eyes that she would probably sneak along or follow if he said No. "Alright," he consented. "But you must keep your word that you won't come in. This person probably won't talk to me if anyone else appears, no matter who they are."

"I promise," April said firmly.

****

The subway station looked eerie and uninviting in the dark. It would look eerie and uninviting in the daytime, Baxter thought to himself. He swallowed hard.

"Last chance to back out," April said softly from the driver's seat.

"It's two minutes of eight," Baxter replied. "I have to go in." Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. "Maybe you should wait across the street, Miss O'Neil. . . ."

"I don't see any open spaces over there," April said. "This place is probably only free because no one wants to park here unless they have to."

"I can't blame them." Baxter quietly shut the door. "Alright. If I'm not back in five minutes, please call the Turtles."

He moved slowly towards the darkened entrance. It was tempting to take out his phone to shine a bit of light down the tunnel, but it might scare off the informant . . . if one really existed. He shuddered, but tried to swallow his fear as he eased himself deeper into the dark. "Hello?" he quavered. "It's eight o'clock. I'm here. . . ."

A rat scurried near his feet and vanished around a corner. He stumbled, frowning down at it. He was running into more rats lately than he had seen since The Rat King's last scheme.

"Come in," a gravelly voice purred from around the same corner.

Baxter really wanted to turn and bolt. But suddenly something tripped him and he fell forward with a yelp. An old door clanged shut behind him. And as he fell, something caught around his ankle and pulled him upward and upsidedown with a jerk.

"Help!" he cried. "Get me down from here!"

Other ropes lashed around his other ankle and his wrists and pulled taut. Now he was no longer upsidedown, but being suspended like a human hammock wasn't much better.

A tall, muscular man came and stood over him. "Good evening," he sneered. "Welcome to my lair, Dr. Baxter Stockman."

Baxter stared up at him. "The Rat King," he gasped in disbelief. "What . . . why are you here?" He tugged on the ropes around his wrists. "Why have you captured me?"

The Rat King sneered. "I would have punished you sooner, had I realized who you were at the amusement park. You invented this, didn't you?!" His eyes flashing, he held up an old Mouser.

Baxter flinched. "Where did you get that?!" he demanded.

"Oh, I picked up a few of them after scavenging around town," The Rat King replied. "I thought I might be able to make use of them someday and have them serve rats instead of catch them. Now I finally know what to do."

"But . . ." Again Baxter tugged on the ropes, desperate, fear climbing into his heart. "My Mousers were never intended to be cruel! They only catch rats, not kill them! It was supposed to be a humane way to relocate rodents away from populated areas!"

"Rats are meant to rule the world!" The Rat King roared. "Relocating them is treacherous!" 

He held up the Mouser and pressed a button. Its fierce jaws cut through the ropes around Baxter's ankles. The scientist flew downward, stumbling as he caught his balance. Now his glasses were askew, but he couldn't fix them. He glowered at his new enemy through blurred vision. "You sent me that message, didn't you?" he spat.

"Of course," The Rat King grinned. "Minnie did see who mugged you. She knows at least one of their names. And since you won't be able to do anything about it, it will be especially delicious to tell you that one of the hoodlums involved was Jason Bentley."

"That name means nothing to me," Baxter retorted. "What are you going to do to me?!"

The Rat King stepped to the back of the room and pulled on a string overhead. A light clicked on, revealing the room as the same one where Baxter had held April captive in his fly-induced madness. Several more Mousers were on the floor in key locations around the room. "Why, I'm going to let you feel what it's like to be a trapped rat." His eyes gleamed in sadistic delight.

Horror spread through Baxter's veins. "You're going to turn the Mousers on me," he realized.

"I've reprogrammed every one of them to seek out Dr. Baxter Stockman," The Rat King informed him. "You can watch as they chomp and chew through this room from every angle to get to you. And when they reach you, naturally you're too big a target for them to 'humanely' take in their mouths."

Baxter started to tremble. "They'll cut me to pieces when they try!" he cried.

"If they don't keep chewing on you instead," The Rat King squealed in glee. "Either way, it will be a long and drawn-out experience from which you will never recover. You are one dead fly."

"I'm not a fly anymore!" Baxter screamed.

"No; you're a human, and that's even lower than flies." The Rat King set the Mouser on the floor and pulled out a remote control. "I developed this to activate all of these Mousers at once. I'd like to stay for the floor show, but just listening to your pained screams throughout the catacombs will more than satisfy me. And when you're dead, my beloved subjects will come and pick your carcass clean."

Baxter struggled, frantic now to tear loose of the ropes. "People know where I am!" he shouted. "They're going to come after me when I don't come out!"

"It won't take long for you to meet your end," The Rat King said. "Oh, I've instructed the Mousers to move slowly in order to draw it out even more, but they should still reach you within fifteen minutes. And then the fun will really begin." He smirked. "No matter who comes after you, I doubt they'll reach you while you're still alive. And if you are, you'll be begging for death. Being eaten alive is never pretty." He pressed the button on the remote control. "Goodbye, Dr. Stockman."

Baxter stared after him in disbelief and then looked down at the Mousers. Indeed, they were moving slowly as they advanced across the floor. One of them reached an old bench and effortlessly chomped through it, leaving it in splinters. Another bit through a section of pipe.

Baxter tugged on the ropes, but it was no use. He rested his head against his left arm as death drew ever closer. "Oh please," he whispered. "Please don't let me die here like this!"

The sounds of the Mousers' jaws echoed throughout the room and the adjoining tunnel.

****

Still sitting in the news van, April frowned and looked at her watch. "It's been over five minutes," she worried. "I was afraid of this!" She pulled out her Turtle-Comm. "Come in, Turtles! It's an emergency!"

"What is it, April?" Leonardo asked.

"Dr. Stockman got this weird note from someone saying they knew who mugged him and they'd tell him if he came alone to the 7th Street subway station!" April explained. "I drove him here and promised to call you if he didn't come back in five minutes. It's been more like seven minutes and he's not back yet!"

"The 7th Street subway station?!" Leonardo's eyes narrowed.

"That's right!" April exclaimed.

"We should be able to reach it underground faster than we could in the Turtle Van," Leonardo said. "We'll leave immediately. And don't you try anything dangerous, April! Just keep sitting there and waiting!"

April hung up. "Like heck I will," she muttered. "Dr. Stockman must be in trouble in there! I should try to get to him now." She started to open the door, then slammed it shut in horror at the sight of unwelcome furry creatures right outside. "Rats?!"

Checking at every window and door revealed that the rodents were surrounding the news van. April was trapped. Within moments, the very loud pops of four exploding tires resounded up and down the street and the van fell down.

"They just ate the tires!" April wailed. "They must be The Rat King's rats! But why is he here?!"

In desperation she went for the phone. "I wonder if Barney might have stopped by Baxter's apartment. . . . We might need all the help we can get!" She grabbed it up and started to dial. When the answering machine came on, she cried, "Is anyone there?! Dr. Stockman? Vincent? It's an emergency!" There was no answer, and in defeat April hung up.

She looked out the window. The rats were gone; maybe now she could try again to get inside the subway station. Slowly she eased the door open, slipping out onto the sidewalk. After casting a glance around for any further sign of rats, she ran towards the darkened entrance.

****

The Turtles ran along the underground ledges, looking for any sign of the right tunnel.

"The 7th Street subway station," Raphael mused as they ran. "That really brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"They must've seen the article in the news," Donatello said. "I'm sure they didn't pick that location on purpose."

"Like, what if they did?" Michelangelo frowned. "If Baxter walked into a trap, it must be somebody who really has it in for him."

"But the only ones who know that he has any connection with that subway station are us, April, Shredder, Bebop and Rocksteady, and . . ." Leonardo's eyes widened. "The Rat King!"

"So?" Raphael retorted.

"I don't know," Leonardo admitted. "I just have this feeling that Baxter's in horrible trouble!"

"And you'd be right."

All the Turtles came to attention as The Rat King stepped out from the shadows, flanked by rats on all sides.

"What is this, Cheese For Brains?!" Raphael snapped. "Why do you want to hurt Baxter?!" He started to reach for his sais.

"I decreed his rightful execution for inventing the Mousers," The Rat King replied.

"Execution?!" Michelangelo cried. He leaped forward, both nunchucks in hand. "There's no way we're going to let you kill our bud!"

"You can't stop it." The Rat King paused, listening to something echoing through the tunnels. "Do you hear it? The glorious sound of the Mousers chewing their way towards him as he remains helplessly suspended, only able to watch as death mercilessly approaches from all sides!"

The Turtles looked at each other. "Turtle Power!" they roared with one accord, charging past their hated nemesis.

"And if we don't get to him in time, you're going to pay the penalty for first-degree murder!" Raphael yelled over his shoulder as he waved a sai.

"You won't take me!" The Rat King called back. "And even if you do, it will be worth it to know that I have ended the life of someone who has been nothing but a menace to ratdom everywhere!"

Raphael gnashed his teeth. "Every time we think somebody can't sink to a new low, they find a way to do it!"

A scream of terror ripped through the tunnel.

"Baxter!" Michelangelo tore ahead of the other Turtles, panic and anger flashing in his eyes. "We're coming, Baxter! Don't give up yet!"

"He has to be close by," Leonardo said.

"But will we make it in time?" Donatello worried. "They must be close; the sounds of the Mousers' jaws are louder now. But it can't take them very long to reach him. . . ."

"We're going to make it!" Michelangelo snapped. "We've gotta! We've just gotta!"

Raphael prayed he was right. If they weren't . . . well, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to lose their friend, especially to such a gruesome end. And Michelangelo would likely never get over it.

He willed himself to run faster.

****

April had advanced deeply into the tunnel when a hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her arm. She shrieked in surprise.

"What are you doing in here?" Barney growled.

"Oh . . . Dr. Stockman," she gasped, thinking how strange it was to be addressing someone else in that manner. "I'm looking for your brother! The Turtles are coming, but I didn't want to just sit and wait for them, and . . . wait, what are you doing here?!"

"We went to Channel 6 to find Baxter and we were told he'd left with you to come here," Barney said.

"We?" April blinked.

Vincent came up on her other side and she jumped. She had heard about the new solid energy generator, but she hadn't seen him use one since the time he and Baxter had tried to take over Channel 6. "I sense heat coming from over there," he pointed. "It may be Baxter."

The agonized scream cut through the night and Barney snapped to attention. "Baxter!" He turned and ran in the direction Vincent had pointed; it was certainly the direction of the scream.

April and Vincent were right on his heels. But they were soon stopped by a closed door.

Barney held out his hands to keep from running into it. "What is this?!" He pushed on it, to no avail.

Vincent came closer. "It's still computer activated," he announced. "I'll try." He concentrated, working on hacking into the system. In a moment the door swung up and the grotesque scene was revealed before them.

The Mousers were upon Baxter by now. One snapped, taking the cuff of his pant leg. Another started on his shoe. In desperation he kicked and struggled, trying in vain to dislodge the stubborn robot before it could reach his flesh. The ropes that were binding him from the ceiling strained against the wooden beam, which creaked and groaned.

Vincent's eyes filled with fury. Immediately he blasted the Mousers away, as well as two others that were drawing close to Baxter.

Shocked, Baxter looked over his shoulder. "Vincent. . . . Barney. . . ."

"Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into," Barney growled.

The Turtles ran into the room from the other direction just then. "We're all here to save you, Baxter!" Michelangelo cried, relieved and overjoyed that they were not too late. He swung out with his nunchucks, taking out two more Mousers.

The other Turtles spread out, destroying the menaces wherever they could. Vincent zapped the ropes, cutting them free and allowing Baxter to drop safely to the floor.

Baxter was shaking violently, unable to calm himself. He launched himself at Vincent, sobbing and clutching at his friend in anguished desperation and relief. "They tried to kill me!" he choked out. "My own inventions were turned against me and tried to kill me!"

Vincent held him close. "It's alright, old pal," he said softly. "You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you."

Baxter just continued to sob, burying his face in Vincent's shoulder.

Barney stood by, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was furious. If whoever had done this was in the room right now, he would be inclined to attack them with everything he had.

He drew a shaking breath, turning to look at Baxter and Vincent. He could never be comforting like that. He certainly couldn't be right now; he was too filled with anger. But Vincent was angry too and still he managed to hold it back and focus on what was really important. He was talking softly to Baxter, holding him close and stroking his hair. And slowly, Baxter was beginning to quiet and calm down.

Michelangelo and the other Turtles hurried over now. "Is he okay?!" Michelangelo demanded. "None of them got to him, did they?!"

"No, they didn't," Barney finally spoke. "Just barely."

Michelangelo sighed in relief and replaced his nunchucks in his belt. "Poor Baxter," he said softly. He had never seen Baxter fall apart like this. It was highly unsettling and rattling. And he had to wonder at how Baxter was clutching at Vincent for dear life. Maybe it was because Vincent had been the one to cut him free, but maybe not. Somehow Michelangelo couldn't picture Baxter ever doing that with any of the Turtles. Oh, not because he wasn't close to them, but maybe because they were still young and might not know how to handle it. He couldn't quite picture Baxter falling on Barney for such comfort, either. With Barney's anger and his aloof personality, he definitely wouldn't know how to handle it. Perhaps in a situation of such dire distress and trauma, Baxter would instead gravitate to his first friend, the one who had been there in his darkest hours. Perhaps in the end, Baxter still felt closer to Vincent than to anyone else.

All of the Turtles and April seemed quite affected by Baxter's distress. But as he calmed down, April sighed in relief and walked over to the Turtles. "Did you see The Rat King?!"

"We sure did," Leonardo said in disgust. "He proudly admitted to doing this just to punish Baxter for inventing the Mousers!"

"And by now that scuzz-bucket's probably gotten away," Raphael snarled. He went back to the tunnel to look. "I don't see him or his furry little friends."

Baxter shuddered, reaching up to brush the tears away from his eyes. For the first time, he really seemed to process how many people had seen him dissolve into hysteria. "I . . . I feel like an idiot," he said softly.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Pal," Vincent told him. "And there's nothing wrong with how you reacted. You shouldn't keep your emotions bottled up inside. I told you that in the past and it's still true now."

"And nobody here thinks you're an idiot, Baxter," Michelangelo said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Yeah," Raphael agreed. "We just think The Rat King is slimier than sewer sludge right now."

Baxter tried to smile. But, still worried about someone's opinion, he looked to Barney, who wouldn't meet his searching eyes.

"Let's go," Barney said abruptly. "There's no point in staying here any longer than we have to."

Baxter flinched. "Barney?" His voice cracked. "Are you . . . angry with me?"

Barney clenched his fists. "If The Rat King was in this room right now, I would probably try to kill him." He spoke very low and very dark.

"That isn't what Baxter asked, Buddy," Vincent said. "Right now, he needs a straight answer. And it won't do to have it from anyone other than you."

Barney whipped around, his eyes flashing, his hair flying with the motion. "Then yes, I'm angry with you!" he said to Baxter, who gasped in crushed dismay.

Raphael stepped forward, outrage written all over his features. "Alright, you sleaze . . . !"

Leonardo grabbed his shoulder. "Wait, Raphael."

Barney ignored them and stepped forward. "I'm angry that you put yourself in this horrible situation by answering that note! But I'm far angrier that The Rat King wrote that note in a cruel way that he knew would bring you down here! I'm furious that he had the cruelty to turn your inventions against you and try to murder you with them! I'm enraged that Shredder tricked you and framed you for all of the renegade Mousers' destruction in the past!" He kept moving as he spoke, finally coming to stand in front of Baxter. When he spoke again, his rising voice had lowered. "And I will never forgive myself for not standing by you when you needed me. Never again."

Cautiously encouraged, Baxter slowly came forward to meet him. "You . . . mean that," he said in awe.

"Of course I mean it," Barney said. "And I'm going to do what I should have done then---try to arrange for an official pardon. You don't deserve to have that police record for something you never even did!"

Baxter's eyes took on a new shining light. "You mean it!" His voice was stronger but still awed. He sounded almost childlike.

Barney growled and pulled Baxter into a quick but firm hug. "I almost lost you tonight. And nothing angers me more than that."

Baxter was stunned. Slowly he brought up his arms, returning the hug before Barney pulled back.

Raphael was still staring. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it, Dude!" Michelangelo shot back. "Barney is figuring out how to be a real brother. And it's totally awesome!"

April came forward. "And I think I might be able to help with getting Baxter pardoned," she said.

"How?" Baxter blinked in surprise.

"I'd still like to do that exclusive story on you," April explained. "I'd tell the whole city the full story: how you were framed, how your mutation happened, and what The Rat King tried to do to you tonight."

Baxter pondered on that. "There wouldn't be any danger of Barney being hurt by the story now," he mused. "When you came to me before, it was when Shredder and Krang still thought I was dead."

April nodded. "What do you say, Dr. Stockman?"

"I . . . I'll do it," Baxter determined. "Thank you . . . all of you. . . ." He looked around the room. "Never in my dreams did I ever think I would actually be so rich. I have so many dear friends. . . . I have a family. . . ."

"And you always will, Dude," Michelangelo declared.

Barney nodded. "You will never be alone again. Not if any of us can help it."

And Baxter knew it was true.

****

Baxter flew awake with a choked cry, sitting upright in bed. Then, groaning, he looked around the room and his shoulders slumped. He was safe; there were no Mousers bearing down on him, no sharp jaws clamping around his legs or arms or throat.

He shuddered, reaching for his glasses by the side of the bed. He hoped he hadn't awakened Barney with that cut-off yelp. Barney and Vincent had both insisted that he come back with them at least for tonight and, not wanting to be alone, he had agreed.

He jumped a mile at the soft knock on the door. "Baxter?"

"Come in," he rasped.

The door opened and Vincent slipped inside. "Barney thought you would probably have nightmares about tonight for a while," he said. "I did too; I remember many times when you woke up screaming."

Baxter gave a weak smile. "You remember more about those days than I do," he said. "It's mostly a fog to me, with only a few stand-out memories." He looked worried. "Did I wake you up?"

"I wasn't asleep." Vincent sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk? You always used to like that."

Baxter fell silent, gathering his thoughts and feelings. "I was so terrified," he whispered. "They kept coming closer and closer, eating through anything in their way. . . . I knew I was probably going to die. I didn't think anyone would reach me in time, unless possibly Miss O'Neil could. . . . I was afraid she might have been captured as well. I . . . I tried so hard to keep my feet off the floor when they got close enough to reach out and snap at me, but they got to me anyway. I thought I was going to be hopelessly mutilated!" He sobbed, covering his eyes with his hands.

Vincent rubbed his back. "I'm just glad we were all able to get to you in time," he soothed.

Baxter's tense muscles began to relax. "When they were coming, I . . . I wondered what had ever possessed me to invent them in the first place," he spat. "Everyone hated them and misused them and my life turned upsidedown because of them! It started to seem fitting that I would be killed by them."

"You invented them because you're a genius, Baxter," Vincent said. "You knew it was a surefire way to catch rats and relocate them without hurting them. The problem with geniuses is that many people don't understand or appreciate them. You weren't ready for that kind of treatment. You were too good and you didn't understand."

"I always knew I was better than people seemed to think I was," Baxter said. "I never could understand why it seemed like the world was out to get me."

"Maybe," Vincent said softly, "because they really knew it too and they were jealous of you."

Baxter laughed. "I find that very difficult to believe."

"Maybe it wasn't true of everyone," Barney suddenly said from the doorway, "but yes, deep down, it was true of me."

Baxter looked up with a start. "Barney . . . ?"

Barney gripped the doorframe. "I stupidly thought you were weak. But I saw how people seemed to love you and I was so very jealous of you. Deep down, I always knew you were a better person than me. And I knew that's why you were loved. And that made me jealous too, since I knew I could never be like you." He walked into the room. "It's always the good who suffer most in this backwards world. And that's always been one of the things that's made me the angriest."

"It is upsetting," Baxter quietly agreed. "Did we wake you up?" he worried.

"I was awake," Barney grunted. "I just thought I'd let you handle things since this isn't really something I'm good at."

"You did just fine earlier tonight," Baxter said quietly.

Barney snorted. "I was angry. I wasn't comforting at all."

"You were, though." Baxter smiled. "It meant so much to know you cared."

"Eh." Barney sat on the bed too. "How are your wrists?"

Baxter absently rubbed them. "They're alright. . . ." He winced.

Barney pulled back Baxter's sleeve and examined the rope burn. "Here." He took a small bottle off the nightstand and squirted the contents on Baxter's wrists. He gently rubbed the soothing cream into his brother's skin before leaning back and wiping his hands on a tissue.

"Thank you," Baxter said.

Vincent looked to Barney. "Are you going to tell Baxter what we were doing?" he wondered.

Barney looked awkward but sincere. ". . . I meant what I said," he said to Baxter. "I've been trying to figure out the proper wording for a letter to the governor to request a pardon for you."

"I doubt he'll grant it, but I'm so happy you actually want to try," Baxter said. He sighed. "I hope I'm not going to be a nuisance if I'm here. . . . What happened was so horrifying. . . . It always takes me a while to recover from ill experiences."

"Brother, it's incredible that you didn't just stay insane after cracking up," Barney retorted. "You have had so many 'ill experiences,' they would fill several volumes."

"I probably would have stayed insane if not for the Turtles' and Splinter's kindness," Baxter said. "They brought me back."

"Which is only right, given that at least the Turtles were partially responsible for you losing your mind to begin with," Vincent said. "I'm glad that they've become your friends, Baxter. I hope that they and I can fully put our differences aside and be friends too."

"Michelangelo has already made a start on that," Barney said.

"He wants to make friends with you too, Barney," Baxter said.

"And I still don't know why," Barney frowned. "After what I did . . ."

"He is so very forgiving and kind," Baxter said.

"Is that why you gravitated to him the most?" Barney wondered. "I would have thought a scientist would more likely make friends with a scientist rather than a surfer."

"Donatello is probably the one I'm next closest to," Baxter mused. "But yes, I'm the closest to Michelangelo. I guess it does seem strange. Although maybe not. . . . It's hard not to grow close to someone who sincerely wants you as a friend and is very open about showing it."

"I suppose," said Barney. "That certainly contributed to my growing so close to Vincent . . . and you."

Baxter smiled. "Oh!" he realized. "I didn't even think to ask. What happened when you two went around to those establishments today?"

"Well . . ." Barney and Vincent exchanged a look before Barney continued to speak. "We were fairly impressed by all of them. And they were all quite taken with Vincent. At each of the places, we were told that Vincent would be allowed to use the solid energy generator to have the freedom of movement."

"At the university, we met some of the students who would be in the class," Vincent said enthusiastically. "Barney was impressed with them and they insisted I wouldn't be a distraction in class."

Baxter looked from him to Barney. "Does that mean . . . ?"

Barney nodded. "I decided I'll give teaching a try again."

Baxter smiled. "I'm happy for you, Barney. I honestly think that's a better choice than the electrical research. You were always a good teacher."

"But I didn't always have the greatest students," Barney retorted. "We'll see how it works out. I may decide I'm not cut out for teaching anymore."

"It's worth a try," Baxter said. "You were better than I was. I just couldn't get control of the students." He sighed. "And I know they were always making fun of me behind my back. . . ."

"If they were, they were all fools." Barney stood.

Baxter chuckled. "You certainly have a unique way of looking at things." He slumped back into the pillows. "I think I'm ready to try going back to sleep again."

Barney nodded in approval and got up. "You do that."

Pleased, Vincent stood as well. "Goodnight, Pal."

"Goodnight, both of you." Baxter smiled, peaceful as he slipped back into sleep. For the rest of the night, there were no nightmares.

****

Baxter was nervous enough doing the sit-down interview with April. But it wasn't going to air live, so that eased some of his anxiety. It only meant he would be even more nervous when it actually came time to air it, however.

"I'm surprised Mr. Thompson even agreed to this," he remarked when they finished watching the taped segment on the evening news.

"Like, why, Dude? You were totally gnarly!" Michelangelo chirped. "So was April, of course."

"You both did very well," Splinter agreed.

"You hid your nervousness well," Barney said. "I doubt if anyone could tell, except maybe Vincent."

"I couldn't tell either," Vincent said. "You were very professional, Pal."

The others also chorused positive comments.

Baxter smiled. "Thank you all. I just mean, Mr. Thompson generally likes to move forward instead of examining the past. Especially if there's any chance that examining the past could open up a scandal involving Channel 6."

"That horrible time when you were stalked really showed him how loved you are by many of our viewers," April said. "I think that's really what made him think this would be a good idea. Those people came to love you even without knowing the full truth. They'll rally behind you for sure when they hear it all."

"I hope so," Baxter said.

"You'll probably also get some new supporters now," Leonardo said.

"Perhaps. But I doubt it will make any difference at all to people like Professor Willardson," Baxter sighed.

Donatello nodded. "Some people just refuse the truth even when it's staring them in the face. Unfortunately, even some scientists do that. . . . But I think any people who do that here will be in the minority," he quickly added.

Raphael looked more cynical, but he said, "Hey, anyone who does is just nuts. You told the truth and it was obvious you were telling the truth. They should see that and not want to hold on to any blame you don't even deserve."

They all left the studio where they had been watching the news on a large screen. As they did, Irma hurried to meet them, a stranger in tow. "Dr. Stockman!" she called. "This man showed up after seeing your interview on the news and he wants to talk to you."

Baxter looked to the man in surprise. Before he could speak, the man held out a business card.

"Dr. Stockman, I'm Jerry Johnson with Johnson's Pest Control company," he announced. "I thought your Mousers were a brilliant idea when the news story came out about them in the past. I wanted to talk to you about them then, but no one would let me see you."

Baxter stared at the card and then looked back up at Mr. Johnson. "They were too busy condemning me for Shredder's antics," he said.

"Yeah. And they thought the Mousers were too dangerous to be on the market. Well, no one's stopping me from talking to you about them now, and I still stand by my earlier feelings. Is there any chance you'd still be interested in cutting a deal? I know the Mousers probably hold nothing but sorrow for you now, but they'd really be a boon to my company."

Baxter started to smile. "I'm still interested," he said.

Mr. Johnson's eyes lit up. "Great! How about we talk about it over lunch tomorrow at the Pizza Palace?"

"I'll be there," Baxter promised.

"Alright!" Raphael exclaimed as Mr. Johnson headed out.

Michelangelo whooped. "That is so awesome, Amigo!"

"Congratulations, Baxter!" Vincent looked proud.

Barney folded his arms. "I'm surprised. But impressed."

Baxter's hand shook a bit as he put the card in his pocket. "Maybe things still won't work out," he said. "I've been hurt too much to believe in it hook, line, and sinker now. But . . . yes, I'm excited and hopeful."

"It'll work out!" Michelangelo insisted. "I'm, like, sure of it!" He hesitated. "And err, if you're going to the Pizza Palace, is there any chance you could . . . maybe bring back a doggy bag?"

"Michelangelo," Leonardo scolded.

Baxter laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

Burne rushed out of his office, his eyes gleaming. "April! Dr. Stockman! Oh, this is big, big, big. We're starting to get emails and phone calls from viewers saying they're going to write the governor about granting Dr. Stockman a pardon for the Mouser fiasco!"

Baxter's eyes widened. "What?!" That was one twist he hadn't expected.

"I finally figured out what I wanted to say and I sent it off today," Barney mused. "Now it looks like my petition will have some company."

"And surely the governor won't ignore all of these heartfelt pleas," April exclaimed.

"That's gonna be epic!" Michelangelo said enthusiastically. "You won't have that police record anymore, Baxter! And maybe you'll even get a public apology from the insane asylum!"

"That would probably be too much to expect," Baxter said. "And none of this has happened yet. I don't want to get my hopes up for any of it. Just knowing that strangers who have only seen me on the news could care about me enough to want to try to help me is incredible. I think that means more to me than the actual chance of receiving a pardon." He walked over to Barney. "And the fact that you want to help me means the very most of all. Thank you, Brother, so very much."

"I'm only doing what I should have done in the first place," Barney said.

"That doesn't make it mean any less," Baxter said. "Actually, I think the fact that you're doing it now makes it mean that much more."

"Oh, and the police used that name you were given to track down the entire gang that mugged you," Vincent said. "The call came in right as we were leaving to come down here. The one who stopped the others from continuing to beat you broke down and confessed."

Baxter looked up in surprise. "That's amazing."

"No duh!" Michelangelo said. "The Rat King actually told the truth!"

"But only because he thought Baxter wouldn't be alive to tell about it," Raphael said in disgust.

Michelangelo draped an arm around Baxter's shoulders. "Happy endings all around!"

Baxter looked around with joy at his family and friends. "I would say happy beginnings," he said.

"For sure, Dude," Michelangelo grinned.


End file.
